


Solid Ground

by rikyl



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Born and Raised, F/M, fancy party, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikyl/pseuds/rikyl
Summary: Ben things about why he stayed in Pawnee.Originally posted to LJ.





	

Ben didn’t stay for Leslie.

At least, that’s not how he thought of it at the time.

Sure, yes, she was a factor. And to be honest, if she had responded to his request for “career” advice by saying she wanted him to stay, or possibly, you know, begging him not to leave her, because she couldn’t stand the thought of working in City Hall without him nearby, and also would he like to ride together to this dinner party thing and possibly go home with her afterwards and stay there forever and ever?

Well, it’s not like he could have said no to that.

That’s not how it went down, of course. Outside of his daydreams.

He made the pro-con list, just as she had told him to, and put the fact that he wanted to date Leslie in the pro column, then the fact that she might not want to date him in the con column—it had been a wash. He waited for her to say something, any kind of encouragement that would have tilted the table in favor of taking the chance, but she didn’t.

At least, not in time.

So he’d regrouped, thought about it, and added another pro. The friendship he already had with her. That felt like something he could count on.

There were other things on the list, on both sides. In the end, though, he felt like the list wasn’t cutting it. There were things he was having trouble quantifying or putting words to, things that felt promising but nebulous. Not Leslie things, just things.

In the end, he didn’t make a decision based on a list. He made it based on a feeling, one he had during a wedding he would have never expected to have been invited to, one that he might not have shown up to if he had realized what it was, because he would have worried he’d be intruding. But all it said on the invite was dinner party, so he went. And there was something about being included in this impromptu ceremony that felt like being in on a secret, being part of the craziness instead of a detached observer, and he let himself get swept away in it.

He had a few beers, watched the dancing, enjoyed the laughter, chatted with people who didn’t question the fact that he belonged, and felt the hope and the friendship that seemed to be bursting out of this dingy little house in this oddly alluring city called Pawnee. He liked these people. Some of them seemed to like him, the real him even, not the hard-hearted budget slasher most of Indiana knew him as, if he left any impression at all.

Ben felt warm and comfortable in a way that he didn’t often feel—he wasn’t naturally a comfortable person. It took effort and time to let down his guard, and it was down. It was a strange sensation, one that it took him a while to pinpoint, and when he finally did, it seemed obvious.

It was the feeling of being at home.

And so he took Andy’s words at face value. Without overthinking it—in retrospect, it became hard to believe how much a few words from a dimwitted shoeshiner had steered the course of his life—he sidled up to Chris, who was rehydrating in between acrobatic dances.

“I’ll do it. I’ll take the job,” Ben had said, going with the impulse, and Chris had slapped him on the back with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary.

Even that felt good. Ben had known Chris to throw around a lot of flowery empty words, but not to make careless job offers. It seemed like validation—one more person in this room who was reaching out to him and saying, I know you, I like you, it’d be nice to have you around.

And it was a good job. Not a job that he had specifically ever thought about pursuing, but one that he knew he could do well, and one that would keep him in Leslie’s orbit.

Not that it was all about Leslie.

It was about the lingering buzz of the Harvest Festival success, the feeling of having helped make something like that happen, the fact of her saying that it was theirs. It was about the list of projects she’d come back from their camping trip with, the giddy feeling he got when he heard her talk excitedly about what was next, and the fact that nothing here felt finished. He wanted to be here to see their plans through.

Their plans.

Okay, maybe it was a lot about Leslie. But it wasn't like he was banking on a romantic future with her. It was about the friendship they had. And the work they were going to do. And if he never got to kiss her—because he really couldn’t tell if that was even a possibility—maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was better, even, not to risk the friendship and the professional partnership, all of which had become really, really important to him.

That’s what he had told himself, because she hadn’t asked him to stay. Hadn’t expressed a single qualm about him leaving. Hadn’t given any indication that anything else might be on the table.

Except that minutes later she had asked him to stay.

"Stay here. Help us build something," she said resolutely, with a hint of vulnerability, and that was it, what he'd been waiting for, she cared. Then creepy Orin had broken the moment, but it was okay, because she was standing so close to him, and she touched his arms as she giggled and told him to run for it, and it was the first time he felt like she might ... actually ...

It hadn’t happened immediately. For as much as he wanted it to happen, it took weeks and weeks of progressively overt flirting and longing looks, of Leslie practically flinging herself at him, and her best friend actually spelling it out in neon letters that Leslie wanted this too, before he felt like he was sure. That he was so sure that it finally tipped the scales, that it seemed worth the risk beyond all reason, and he couldn’t stand one moment longer not to at least try.

That’s when he put it all on the line—not just their jobs, but their entire professional relationship, their friendship, the foundation of the life that he was building in Pawnee.

For a kiss. A kiss without a plan.

In retrospect, maybe he should have had a plan.

\--

Ben hadn’t stayed for Leslie.

Or at least, that’s not how he had thought of it at the time.

Looking around the parks department as Leslie and her friends—his friends, some of them, maybe—celebrated the success of her book release over waffles and syrup, he wasn’t sure.

There was something about the scene that was reminiscent of being at April and Andy’s wedding—another dingy room filled with laughter and chatter and hope. His now-roommates (because the exact place where he’d first thought the word ‘home’ had in fact become his actual place of residence) were canoodling happily. Everyone was consuming unhealthy levels of syrup. Mouse Rat wasn’t playing live, but their album was on loop. Everyone was practically group-hugging in a big celebratory bundle of friendship. Seriously, when had Ron and Ann hit it off?

But something was different now. Ben felt different. Apart instead of ... a part of things. An interloper instead of a participant.

Leslie was across the room laughing at something that Ron had said and then whirling around to shower Tom with a friendly hug—probably a thank you for helping her out with the Joan situation. She looked so happy and proud, and god, she was so beautiful it hurt. And he was genuinely happy for her, in the corners of his mind that weren’t desperately trying not to beg her to take him back.

Ben knew he hadn’t been any help to her this week—the sarcastic barbs just kept rolling out of his mouth unbidden these days, and if Joan Callamezzo hadn’t gotten herself so drunk, she might have been so offended that he would have done more damage than anything. What the hell was he doing?

He’d just been so unhappy to be sent off with Tom, when what he really wanted to do was to stay near Leslie. To be there for her, like a boyfriend would be. But he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, and if he was being honest, he never really had been.

It’s not that he hadn’t known it was going to be hard, to give up touching her and waking up with her, to walk away from something that was so promising and so unfinished. He just hadn’t realized he’d be giving up so much else too. It was like ... he had thought he built his future here on something solid, out of real, durable, you know, things that people build things with. Only to find out too late what he'd really done is to construct a home out of just crap, like ... sugar cubes and Elmer's glue. All it took was one good rainfall, and he had nothing to show for it.

He had liked his job, but what he had liked most about it was working with Leslie. But they weren’t building things together; they were avoiding each other. And the friendship, forget it, they were more stilted and professional than they had ever been. It was too weird and painful, to be anything but what they wanted to be.

Maybe, with time—but no, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to get over her. And so he waited, not knowing if they’d punctuated their short relationship with a period or an ellipsis, and too afraid to ask her outright.

So that left him with … everything in Pawnee that wasn’t Leslie. Which, looking around the parks department, at all the people who had come to mean something to him, wasn’t all that much. The only ones who even knew he was reeling from a breakup were Ron and Ann, and they were much more Leslie’s friends than his. There was Tom, who had given him an iPad, which honestly, could just as easily have been a token of professional gratitude than a genuine offer of friendship. It’s not like Ben’s phone had been ringing off the hook since then or anything, and he wasn’t in the mood these days to be mocked relentlessly anyway.

There was April, a kid basically, and for the life of him, he couldn’t tell if she was warming him up to him or plotting his murder.

Donna knew what beer he drank, but not that he had a new niece. They weren’t exactly confidants.

Jerry was … Jerry.

And that left Andy, kindhearted bumbling doofus of a musician/shoeshiner/roommate who was … weirdly perceptive. And fun, and pretty loyal. But did Andy even count? He was … basically like a dog. He liked everybody.

Dear lord, Ben wondered in a panic. Could he really be staying in Pawnee just for Andy?

Unsure of how he fit in here anymore, he stood off to one side, awkwardly leaning against a counter and fidgeting with Leslie’s book. He’d only managed to read sections of it at a time because of the aching holes it opened up within him, to see this place she loved so much through her eyes as only she could see it, but from a distance that any stranger with a library card could achieve. It was everything he loved about her and couldn’t have right now and he probably shouldn’t be reading it in public. If he started crying, maybe he could plead lingering grief over Li’l Sebastian--they'd probably buy that here.

He didn’t blame her—not for the reason she broke up with him, which he still believed was the right decision for her, and not for the distance that stood between them now. And when she looked across the room at him, with so much longing, he knew she felt some of what he felt. Maybe all of it. Which was worse, because it didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything.

Feeling like he needed to get away, to get some breathing room, he excused himself out to the hallway, where he took out his phone and started thumbing through pictures of his new niece, just to have something else to focus on that had nothing to do with Leslie or Pawnee. Then he dialed the number that had become like a lifeline lately, letting it ring until his brother’s groggy voice came over the line.

“Sorry. Uh, did I wake you?” Ben looked at his watch. It was barely 5 in the afternoon.

“Sort of, it’s okay.” There was a pause, the sound of Bobby yawning and rustling some sheets. “They tell you you’re supposed to sleep when the baby sleeps.”

“Oh ... wait. I thought that was for the mom.” Ben had no idea where he had heard something like that, but it sounded right.

“Yeah, right, like you know.” Bobby’s voice sounded sleepy but happy. “Just wait til you have a newborn and see how many naps you need.”

“Right. Yeah.” Ben swallowed hard, trying hard not to be overcome with envy for his brother’s new family and the hard-earned exhaustion and the … he didn’t even know what all Bobby had that he wanted. “How is she?”

“She’s great. Poops all the time, no shame. It’s beautiful.”

“It sounds like it.” Weirdly, it was the least sarcastic thing Ben had uttered in days.

Apparently that was cause for alarm, because Bobby was quiet for a moment. “Dude. What’s with you? Are you okay?”

“Um … ” Ben hadn’t told anyone about the breakup, figuring Bobby had enough on his hands, what with the napping and the pooping and all. And locally … it seemed like the fewer people who knew, the better for Leslie’s campaign. Everything here was about Leslie’s campaign. Maybe he just needed to get away for a bit. “Actually, um ... do you mind if I come up for the weekend?”

“Really? Yeah, sure, absolutely. It’s a little more crowded here, but we’ll make room. I thought you weren’t going to make it until Christmas.”

“Um … I don’t know. I guess, you know, I’m anxious to meet Carolyn. And I…” Ben glanced back into the parks department and pictured his weekend, missing Leslie, waiting for Tom to call, trying not to resent the happiness of his newlywed roommates. “I’m not sure what I have keeping me here.”

He meant for the weekend, but it was hard not to hear the words and feel like they had the ring of truth to them at that moment.

Some distant squalling erupted on the other end of the line, and they quickly made plans to talk later in the week before Bobby hung up to take care of Carolyn.

As he hung up the phone, Tom burst into the hallway, and Ben involuntarily braced himself against … something. He was always bracing himself against something these days.

“Ben, my man, J-Shot, why’d you leave the party?”

“Oh … um, my brother …” Ben looked down at his phone, sighed, and halfheartedly held out the image of Carolyn’s pudgy little face that was currently filling the screen. “I was making plans to go see my niece this weekend.”

“If she’s not legal, I don’t care,” Tom said with a dismissive glance at the picture, and Ben blanched.

“Dude. She’s three weeks old.”

“Anyway, I thought you were hanging with me and Jean-Ralphio this weekend!”

“We were … what?” Ben was fairly certain Tom had never invited him to … anything, ever. Well, that wasn’t true. There had been that cologne party, which Ben was pretty sure Leslie had been behind. And the coffee, which had really just been a ploy to bum some professional advice. He was starting to feel like Charlie Brown with the football, but he wasn’t a damned cartoon character with a giant bald head.

“We’re going to go to all the hottest clubs and set wads of money on fire to get people’s attention. Just kidding! Don’t look like that. You need to chill. And that is what this weekend was going to be about. Chillin’. So … next weekend, you in?”

Ben shrugged, more with his face than his shoulders. What the hell did he have to lose? “Okay.”

“That is a seriously cute baby,” Donna said, coming up behind Tom and swiping the cell from Ben’s hand. “Mmm-mmm. She is going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Ah. Thanks.” Three weeks old, people. But he was kind of proud too. He thought she had his eyes. His brother’s eyes, he supposed, but …

Donna punched him on the arm, hard. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you had a new niece?”

“Ow!” Ben rubbed the spot on his arm, feeling sheepish all the sudden. He’d spent so much time being unhappy that nobody around him knew anything that was going on with him, but how were they supposed to know to ask? “I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Donna said sternly, and he smiled at her apologetically, feeling weirdly relieved to be scolded by Donna. “Stop by before you leave town. I’ll make her some booties you can take with you.”

“Booties!” Tom cackled. “And when you get back, we’ll find you some real booties.”

“Thanks … Donna.” Ben wanted to be real clear he was expressing appreciation for Donna's offer, not Tom's. Lord knows he was not ready to look at anyone else’s … anyway. “That’s really nice of you. And yeah, Tom, I’ll hang out with you next weekend. That’d be, ah ... yeah.”

As they chatted for a few moments more, Ben glanced up and caught Leslie watching him from across the parks department offices. When she caught his eye, the corner of her mouth twitched up into a smile, one that looked more affectionate or encouraging than strained, as most of their smiles had been lately.

It was like ... she was glad to see him still trying to fit into her world.

Not her world. As much as Leslie was tied to Pawnee, it wasn’t completely tied to her. Not completely.

He hadn’t stayed just for Leslie. He hadn’t.

He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

Their gaze broke as Andy and April walked past with their coats on. “See you at home, Uncle Ben,” April said with a smirk that looked slightly more friendly than murderous.

“Yeah … home,” Ben echoed faintly.


End file.
